Girl, Conflicted
by sashalaneauthor
Summary: Does Emma have as much bad luck with romance as Bridget? Emma Storey is thirty-two trying to balance her life. She's in a relationship with Chris and is eagerly anticipating his marriage proposal. But the proposal doesn't go quite to plan and Emma's world is flipped upside down. A chance meeting with a handsome stranger makes Emma wonder if true love may be possible after all.
1. Chapter 1

' _Mum? What are you doing? Who is that? Where's my dad?'_

' _Calm down and shut up. This is just my friend Roger from work.'_

' _But where's Dad?'_

 **Chapter Two**

I'm dressed in all my finery. My little black dress, worn only once for my cousin's engagement party despite it costing nearly a month's wage, pulls in at the waist, giving me curves I don't usually possess. The cut of the neckline shows off my modest cleavage in the best way possible, although I still need my push-up bra to give any impression of boobs hiding beneath my outfit.

Sometimes I envy Sophie with her voluptuous body. She has full boobs and a round bum, yet a stomach so flat that if you didn't know better you would think she did a thousand sit-ups a day to maintain it. I do know better, though: Sophie was just blessed by the good body fairy. She's only been to the gym a handful of times in her whole life, to the best of my knowledge, and that was only because the new spin class teacher was hot. The novelty soon wore off and she realised the gain of ogling him for thirty minutes was not worth the pain of not feeling your bum for the entire time and not being able to walk normally for three days after doing the class. Everyone kept telling her that if she carried on eating anything she wanted her body would catch up with her. So far, despite being in her early thirties, they appear to be wrong and I have yet to see any evidence of this. I, on the other hand, was blessed by the flat-chested boyish figure fairy, so I will be forever grateful to the inventor of the super bra.

Smothered in Chanel perfume, which I save only for very special occasions given that I need a bank loan to buy a decent-sized bottle, I sip my delicious crisp white wine and gaze lovingly at Chris, who is fiddling nervously with his napkin. I don't think I've ever felt happier and so full of anticipation. It's sweet that he's so nervous.

Chris pushes his thick, golden hair back from his face with the palm of his hand and he looks right at me. I smile patiently, wondering whether now we've finished our main course he is going to ask me to marry him. Just as he opens his mouth to speak the waiter interrupts, thrusting dessert menus under our noses. Damn it.

'I can recommend the chef's chocolate soufflé.' He flicks his gaze between us. 'It's lighter than air.'

'That sounds lovely.' I smile through gritted teeth.

'Make that two.' Chris nods at the waiter as he collects the menus and disappears towards the kitchen.

'So.' Chris clears his throat. 'There's something that I want to talk to you about.' He glances down at the table.

Oh. My. God. This. Is. It. My heart thunders in my chest and, with difficulty, I swallow down my excitement. My throat is suddenly as dry as the Sahara desert so I grab my wine glass with a slightly shaky hand and take a grateful sip.

'I've been doing some thinking. You know, we've been talking about some serious things lately.' Chris fumbles the words.

'Yes.' I nod, trying to remain calm. 'Like moving in together.' I prompt.

'That's right.'

He looks…worried? That's normal, though, right? I mean, this is a big thing. I'm sure it's fine. Every man must get a little tongue tied at this moment. Think positive, think positive.

'And…' I fiddle with the stem of my wine glass. He must just be working himself up to ask me.

'And it's just…'

'Yes?'

He stares at me, looking a little awkward, and for a second a flash of disappointment washes over me. My stomach does a little flip like when you go over a hill in the car a little too fast and I suddenly feel like I'm going to hear something that I really don't want to. This isn't how I pictured the conversation going at all and I can feel the sheepish grin that's been plastered on my face all evening beginning to fade.

'You're a lovely girl and everything…'

'What?'

'It's just…I don't think it's going to work out between us.'

Excuse me? I stare at him, completely dumbfounded. Did I actually hear that right? Did he really just say 'You're a lovely girl' after two years of being in a relationship with me? Seriously? And then the sledgehammer hits me with full force – he's breaking up with me. That's what's happening here. There's no marriage proposal. He's breaking up with me.

'You don't think it's going to work out between us?' I repeat back at him a little flippantly and just a little too loudly for such a nice restaurant. I can hear the complete shock in the tone of my voice.

'It's simply run its course, that's all. Don't you think?' Chris looks around nervously before reaching across the table and placing his hand cautiously over mine.

I feel a physical pain coursing through my body before it's laid to rest with a final stab to my heart and my mouth flaps open like a goldfish.

The waiter suddenly reappears, sliding a perfectly formed chocolate soufflé in front of me. I stare aimlessly down at it, realising at this point that I will never get to taste the chef's special 'lighter than air' soufflé. I think I might actually be sick.

'Come on, Emma. This can't be a total surprise.' Chris squeezes my hand a little and I look up, meeting his gaze, trying desperately to see something in his eyes that says this is a mistake. That he's got it all wrong. But his expression is blank as he looks right back at me. His eyes are completely detached from any emotion and that's when the realisation hits me. I'm such an idiot.

'Who is she?' I ask flatly, closing my eyes. I try desperately to contain the bubbling anger that is threatening to spill over, which would cause an embarrassing scene in front of all these other posh diners who actually deserve to be here, enjoying their pleasant, if slightly pretentious, dinner. I hold my breath, sure that I don't really want to hear the answer to my question.

'Emma, come on.' He shifts uncomfortably in his seat as I snap my eyes open and glare at him accusingly.

'I asked you a question, Chris. Don't you at least owe me the truth after two years of sharing our lives?'

He presses his lips together into a thin line.

'Who. Is. She?' I growl through gritted teeth.

There is a deathly pause during which the background noise of the restaurant seems to be captured and muffled by a bubble. My thudding heartbeat is the only sound that I can hear in the room.

'No one you know.' He swallows noisily like he's just eaten a bug.

There it is, right there. The truth that I knew I didn't want to hear. I roughly snatch my hand back from under his as I blink back tears. So there you go. Two years of building what I thought was an intimate, trusting relationship only to be left stranded on my own desert island of our imaginary life while he sails away into the distance with someone else. The air between us is as sharp as cut glass. How did I not see any of this? How stupid must I be?

'How long has this been going on?' I'm trying to keep my voice low but I can feel a hint of hysteria creeping in.

'It doesn't matter.'

'It matters to me!' I shout a little too loudly and as a result I'm greeted by frowns and stares from the other diners. But I don't care. My whole world is imploding and Chris is sitting across from me as cool as a cucumber, telling me it doesn't matter how long he's been having his leg over with someone else while taking me for a complete fool. It's lies. It has all been lies.

'Emma, you're making a scene.' He glances around, looking embarrassed.

'I'm making a scene?'

'Just calm down.'

That's the red rag to my bull right there.

'That's why you brought me here, isn't it?' I shout incredulously. 'You thought you could tell me that you've been cheating on me and that you're a total prick, and that I wouldn't make a scene?'

Everyone is staring now, including the waiting staff who flap around, clearly wondering if they should evict us from the restaurant but at the same time realising we haven't paid yet.

'Hey.' Chris has the audacity to look angry with me now.

'Don't "hey" me. All this time I've been thinking that things are going well between us, that we have a future together, and you've been…you've been…' My voice has reached screeching point. 'Argh! You make me sick.'

Chris looks shocked by my outburst and I'm glad I'm embarrassing him. I can't believe he's hurt me like this. I just can't believe he's done this.

I reach forward, grab my wine glass and down the remains of my drink. As I stand up to remove myself from this impossible situation, I knock over the tall white candlestick in the centre of the table. Thankfully it blows itself out before the shocked waiter can reach the table to save it. Everyone is staring at us now, open-mouthed, and a hush has descended over the entire restaurant. Our hideous sideshow is intruding on the rich, posh people enjoying their own romantic evenings.

'I don't ever want to see you again,' I snarl across the table at Chris, before grabbing my shawl from the back of the chair. I turn away from him and hurry across the crowded room. I can hear him call my name as I dash between tables, narrowly avoiding waiters who have resumed carrying steaming plates of food, until I reach the door. But Chris doesn't follow me.

Once out on the street I lean against the cold bricks of the restaurant wall for support, careful to stay out of sight from the large bay windows as I gulp at the chilly night air, focusing all my attention on staying upright and not collapsing in a crying heap on the pavement. My legs no longer feel strong enough to support my body and I shiver in the cool breeze and pull my flimsy shawl more tightly around my shoulders.

What the hell just happened? My life has done a complete one-eighty-degree turn in the time it took for a soufflé to arrive from the kitchen. That's all it took for my relationship with the perfect guy and a dream of a happy ending to disintegrate into nothing. Have the last two years of my life all been a fantasy in my head? Did I imagine everything? Every look, every kiss? No. He's just been playing a game. How many times has he crawled from my bed into hers? Urgh. I don't even want to think about that.

I stand up straight and move away from the wall. Looking around aimlessly, I see that I'm surrounded by groups of friends, laughing and chatting, making their way to bars and restaurants. It's a busy Saturday night, and as I stare at the people around me, I have never felt so alone, scared and alone. I suddenly feel a desperate need for my bed, just to snuggle down in my pyjamas and pull the quilt over my head. To block out this whole stupid evening and the dull ache that is forming around my broken heart.

I wobble unsteadily, flailing between the throngs of people, in search of a taxi. I wrap my arms around myself to try to keep warm but it does nothing to deter the uncontrollable shaking that has taken over my body. As I turn the corner onto the main road I am so grateful to see a black cab heading my way that as I fling my arm out in desperation and it pulls over to the kerb I actually give a little sob.

The few miles home feel like an eternity but I finally make it to my front door. As soon as I have flicked the deadbolt on, to barricade myself in for the night, it's like I've flicked on the emotional switch inside me. A single tear streaks slowly down one cheek like the calm before the storm and then one big, fat tear after another slides down my face, plopping from the edge of my chin onto my 'oh-so-perfect little black dress', and then I begin to cry. Really cry, like I've never cried before. I stagger bleary-eyed into my bedroom and don't even bother to remove my clothes, let alone my makeup, before I starfish, face down onto the bed. I bury my face into my pillows, not giving a damn about the streaking mascara that will no doubt cause a stain. I can hear the strange, gargled sound of heart-wrenching sobs but it's like they're coming from someone else, like I'm having an out-of-body experience and I'm looking down from above, seeing my body heaving on the bed. I watch, mesmerised, until the sobs turn into a whimpering sound like that of an animal in pain and then the claws of sleep dig in deep and finally welcome me in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Three**

I wake to the irritating sound of my mobile phone bleating somewhere in my vicinity but my head feels far too heavy to even attempt to lift it from my pillow. For a second I wonder why I'm lying face down on the bed in the first place, and then I remember. The restaurant, Chris's pathetic face as he told me it was over, the realisation that there was someone else, me shouting and then sobbing. My heart sinks and instantly the pain in my chest is back like an ice-cold hand clutching at my heart and squeezing with all its might.

Chris broke up with me. Our relationship is over. He's been cheating on me. He wants to be with someone else. The words flow repeatedly through my head like a solemn mantra.

Ultimately he doesn't want me any more.

I feel physically sick, broken and emotionally shattered.

My heart is willing me to lie here forever, but my body is challenging me to get up. I'm completely dehydrated and my tongue is sticking disgustingly to the roof of my mouth, in desperate need of water. Dragging myself up from my bed, I glimpse my reflection in my dressing-room mirror and I catch my breath; it's not a pretty sight. It's so bad that I have to stop and take a second look. I step closer and stare at the unkempt, almost unrecognisable reflection looking back at me. Last night's mascara has smeared around my eyes and down my cheeks, giving a whole new meaning to the term 'panda eyes'. My face is puffy from all the crying and the sleek, shiny hair that I left the house with last night has morphed into a matted mass that is half plastered to my face from the salty tears and half sticking up on end like I've received an electric shock. In a way I did, and maybe this is my whole body's reaction. It's turned on itself and gone into self-destruct mode.

Maybe caffeine will help.

My mobile phone bleeps again, signalling that a text message has arrived, and I glare at my handbag, the holder of said mobile phone, as it taunts me from the corner of the room. I eye it up warily. I don't even want to look at my phone but it's going to continue to prod me with that beeping sound until I do, and right now that feels like a drill pressing hard against my scull. Similar to pulling off a plaster, I realise I need to do this quickly. I rummage around in my handbag for the phone and glance briefly at the screen before sighing with relief. It's just Sophie. Oh no! She wanted all the details of my wonderful romantic evening. She's going to expect me to be engaged. I rub my temples, trying to dispense the thick fog that is clouding my brain. I'm not ready to regurgitate the events of last night just yet, even to Sophie. I feel too numb to even try to put what happened into words. I switch the phone to silent and toss it onto the bed.

Twisting myself into a knot, I extract myself from my little black dress and pull on my big, fluffy dressing gown, wrapping it around me like a security blanket as I head downstairs to the kitchen.

A few moments later, armed with a steaming mug, I reach the sanctuary of my sofa. As I sit nursing the mug of tea with the television on mute, I realise my mum is wrong – a cup of tea can't fix everything. It doesn't even come close. I'm torn between feeling so angry that I could go round to Chris's place right now and rip his head off and so sad that everything I thought we had we didn't. All the dreams of a future together were mine and not ours.

I quickly come to the conclusion that wallowing alone is only going to lead me to a further depression. Sitting upright and placing my empty mug on the coffee table, I decide that I need to have company or I'll end up drowning my sorrows with the last of the brandy left over from my attempt at a Christmas pudding, and no good will come of that.

I head back upstairs to text Sophie.

 _Hi. How was the second date with Connor? Last night didn't quite go to plan. Can you come over?_

I take a deep breath and press 'send' but I realise, with a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, that once I talk about the hideousness of the last supper, it will become a reality. It's not just some horrible dream and there's no going back.

My phone beeps.

 _Can be at yours in an hour. x_

A hot shower does little to improve my puffy face but at least I can now blow-dry my hair back into a more acceptable style. Applying every lotion and potion I can to my skin seems to help, and by the time I hear the doorbell ring I almost resemble my normal self. As I open the door I see Sophie's face, which is initially bright with anticipation but then wavers slightly before she asks the dreaded question.

'What happened?' She frowns at me. 'Is everything alright?'

I step back from the door to let her in but I don't trust myself to speak quite yet. I can feel the emotion building in me again and my bottom lip quivers, causing me to fear that a repeat of last night's sobbing is about to erupt. I walk through to the kitchen and Sophie quickly follows behind me. I switch the kettle on and prepare two coffee cups, and then turn to face her. She hasn't uttered another word but she's staring at me intently with a worried expression, clearly waiting for me to begin to explain why I'm not grinning from ear to ear and shouting that I'm engaged from the top of my lungs.

'He didn't take me to La Sapiniere to ask me to marry him.' I take an awkward gulp of air. 'He took me there to break up with me. '

I lean on the kitchen side for support and watch Sophie's changing expression as she digests what I've just told her. She too seems completely floored by this news: she stands open-mouthed, mirroring my own flapping goldfish response from last night. Then she steps forward and pulls me into a hug. This simple act of friendship is my undoing and the tears begin to flow again.

After a moment or two I regain some of my composure and pull away from her, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand as I resume the task of making coffee.

'What happened? Why has he ended things?' Sophie asks softly.

'That's the best part of the story.' I sniff. 'He's been seeing someone else.'

'The bastard,' she snaps, clearly outraged. 'Who is she?'

I see a steely glint in Sophie's eyes.

'I don't know. He wouldn't say. There was a lot of yelling, on my part anyway.' I shrug. 'You know what? It doesn't really matter who she is; it's who he is that matters, and that's someone in a relationship, someone's boyfriend. The truth is, it's him that's the most at fault; he's been playing me. I just, I don't know… I guess I didn't see it coming at all. I thought things were great. I thought we had a future. He was the only long-term relationship I've had. The rest all fizzled out after a few months. I actually thought we had a chance of a happy ending.'

'I know, I know.' Sophie grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. 'I'm sorry.'

I nod, too choked to speak. Taking a deep breath, I try to put a lid on my turbulent emotions.

'So anyway, how was date number three?' I slide a mug across to her.

A wry smile spreads across Sophie's face but then her expression falters.

'Hey.' I touch her hand gently. 'I'm fine with the fact that you're happy and in love in your new relationship. It's not your fault that Chris ended up being a complete shit.'

'I just feel like it's bad timing, that's all.' Sophie nods slowly as she takes a sip of her coffee. 'It's going really well, though.' She can't help smiling again.

'You really like him, don't you?' I can see the fuzzy glow of lust all around her.

'I do. He's…different.'

'I'm happy for you.'

She looks at me with what I perceive to be a mixture of pity and sympathy.

'Honestly I am,' I reassure her, and I genuinely mean it. 'It's about time you had some decent luck on the relationship front.'

'Are you going to be alright?' she asks tentatively.

'Not right now. But I guess I will be.' I say quietly. What other choice do I have?


End file.
